Second Chance at the Sugar Shack

by Candis Terry

  “Yep. I pretty much gutted the whole thing,” he said. “After I added the second story and the deck, I called it good. I started out with eight hundred square feet and ended up with over two thousand.”

  Kate glanced up to the second story veranda and the golden light illuminating from behind open French doors. Sheer curtains billowed with the breeze from what Kate guessed was the master bedroom. She wondered how he’d decorated it. Did he have a king-size bed topped with a cozy down comforter and fluffy pillows? Or was he the sleek modern type with a black and gray bedspread? She watched him push the halved potatoes around on the grill and imagined he’d be the former. There was a side of Matt that boasted warmth and deliciousness. While a whole different side warned her to be cautious. He was a complex man. The sturdy house he’d built reflected the fact that he could do just about anything he set his mind to. She just didn’t know what his mind was set to anymore. She raised her glass and nodded. “You did good, Deputy Ryan.”

  He looked up at the house with pride and gave a short nod. “Thanks.”

  She sipped her wine and before she could bite her tongue the intoxicating effects had her asking, “Have you always lived here by yourself?”

  With a stainless spatula he slid the grilled trout and roasted potatoes onto plates without looking at her. But he smiled. “That’s a pretty personal question, Hollywood.”

  “Just making conversation.” A task that wasn’t coming easy for either of them.

  Without giving her an answer, he set the plates on a planked cedar patio table and motioned for her to sit across from him. She watched the way his muscles moved beneath his flannel shirt, the way the candlelight gleamed off his dark hair, and she realized she could watch him all day. Of course, self-preservation demanded it would be a frigid day in Tahiti before she’d let him know that information.

  “Have a seat,” he said, and waited until she did before he joined her.

  She set her wine glass next to her plate, stuck her fork in the meal, and closed her lips over a bite of steaming trout. The burst of lemon and butter flavor exploded across her tongue. “Mmmmmm.” She closed her eyes. “Very good. The last time I had trout was with Drew and Cameron. They–”

  When she looked up, he was watching her. Intently.

  “Drew and Cameron?”

  “Barrymore and Diaz.”

  “You always do that?” he asked.

  “Do what?”

  He popped a bite of potato into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed before he answered. “Name drop.”

  “I don’t mean to. It’s just–”

  “Your life.”

  “Yes.”

  “And these people are important to you.”

  “Well, yes, they are my clients.”

  His gaze speared her. “And these are the clients that keep you warm at night?”

  Something flashed between them that made her heart race and a shiver of awareness skate through her stomach and pool between her thighs. She could only imagine exactly how warm that big body of his could keep a woman. “The salaries they pay me provide a very comfortable lifestyle. So yes, in a sense, they keep me warm.”

  He leaned his forearms on the table and his dark brows drew together. “So your clients pay you to be their friend?”

  “It’s not like that,” she said, trying her best not to sound defensive. “There are dozens of different kinds of friendships. There are those you call to commiserate with, those you meet up with just to chat, and those you meet to chat with and talk business.”

  “What about those who are there to hold your hand when you’re scared? Or bring you soup when you’re sick? Or call just to tell you they’re glad to hear your voice?”

  She lifted her glass. “Touché.”

  “Sorry,” he said. “I’m really not trying to push you into a corner.”

  “Then what are you trying to do?”

  “Your life is so different. I’m just trying to figure it all out.”

  “Wow. That surprises me.”

  One broad shoulder lifted in a shrug. “So how’d you make it all happen? Your career, I mean.”

  Kate sipped her wine and watched him over the glass rim. No sarcastic grin curved his mouth. He looked to be genuinely interested. “School of hard knocks. At first I thought all I had to do was finish my degree and I’d walk into this glamorous life where all the stars would be breaking down the door to hire me.” She laughed. “Talk about a backwoods babe in the concrete jungle.”

  He drank from his Sam Adams, lowered the amber bottle then sucked a drop from the beautiful curve of his top lip. “But you made it work.”

  “Yeah, I did. After I learned the basics, I developed my own style. Which apparently had been struggling to get out of me for years.”

  He gave her a knowing smile. “I do remember you had a very different fashion sense than most of the girls at Deer Lick High.”

  “Ah, yes, my Daisy Dukes, crop top, and hoodie days.”

  “You wore them well.”

  “All that skin showing? I gave my mother nightmares.”

  “I didn’t mind.”

  His deep chuckle gave her an odd sense of comfort. One she wasn’t quite sure she should explore.

  He leaned forward. “Tell me more.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, how did you go from backwoods babe to a Hollywood success?”

  “Mostly I chatted up anyone who may have had a contact in the industry and I got my name out there. After a few years I finally got a call from a stylist who needed an assistant.” She sipped her wine. “The best day ever was when I threw away my apron and quit my waitressing job.”

  “Doesn’t sound like it was easy.”

  “Maybe not, but I wanted it. It taught me a lot about myself. I learned that I couldn’t just sit around and wait for things to happen; if I really wanted something, I had to make it happen. I learned that I’d never be happy stuck in a cubicle and pushing paper. And I learned that making things interesting or fun or beautiful is a big part of who I am. If I couldn’t do that . . . well, I’d be a pretty unhappy camper.” She glanced away from the intensity in his eyes. “That probably sounds shallow to someone like you who’s all about serve and protect.”

  “Not shallow. Just different. I admire creativity. As a kid I could never even stay in the lines when I colored.”

  “Staying in the lines is overrated. So what about you?” she asked, eager to sway the conversation away from herself. She might like styling for people who craved the spotlight, but she never truly felt comfortable there herself. Especially when the source of intimidation sat only two feet away. “How’s your mother?”

  “Same story. Different day.” He gave a barely visible shake of his head. “She met husband number six last year. I’m not even sure she’s legally divorced from number five. She moved to Alabama. Still drinks. Never hear from her unless she needs money.”

  “I’m sorry.” Kate reached across the table and placed her hand on his arm. Beneath her fingers his muscles tightened.

  “Shit happens.” He moved his arm from beneath her touch and picked up his fork.

  The action should have been a clear sign that he wasn’t a touchy-feely kind of guy. She remembered differently. She remembered plenty of times when he couldn’t get enough of her hands all over him. But when times had been tough, when he’d had to deal with his mother’s public drunkenness, or when his mother would punish him for the misery she’d made of her life, Kate had just held him in her arms. Obviously he was still trying to tuck away those painful years and move forward. Time to change the subject.

  “Soooo, now that you have your house done, what’s your next project?” she asked.

  He took a bite of potato, chewed it thoughtfully. “Sheriff Washburn’s retiring. I plan to take his place.”

  “Seriously?”

  “It’s been my goal for a long time.”

  “It’s a lot of responsibility.”

  He nodded, sipped hi
s beer and said, “I’m ready for it. A lot of changes need to be made around here. Deer Lick may be small, but it’s not without its problems.”

  “Who are you running against?” she asked, a little impressed by his sudden enthusiasm.

  “A guy from Wyoming. Small-town deputy.”

  “Like you?”

  “Nothing like me.” His brows came together. “His platform is to keep things operating the way they are. But drugs are creeping into the community and the situation can’t be ignored.”

  She sipped her wine. “That’s pretty admirable.”

  He glanced out across the lake. “I care about this town, the people in it. It’s a good place to raise kids.” His eyes came back to hers. “I’d like to keep it that way.”

  Their conversation came to a halt even as they watched each other. The differences between them were enormous. He was focused on taking care of his community, making a family, and raising kids. She was focused on staying on top of her game and grabbing handfuls of happiness here and there.

  For now, the beauty of the night surrounded her as she shared a delicious meal with a gorgeous man while sipping very good wine. Who could ask for more? With her plate nearly empty, she pressed the napkin against her mouth. “Dinner was really great. Thank you.”

  “No problem. Thanks for catching it.” He stood to remove their plates.

  “Let me help you with that.” She reached out her hand and accidentally brushed her fingers against his. The same spark that flew from their fingertips that day in the bakery ignited a warm tingle through her stomach.

  Their eyes met and he shook his head, obviously dismissing the connection. “I’ve got it covered.”

  She watched him disappear into the dark house. A single light came on followed by the sound of dishes being dumped in a sink. She strolled to the edge of the deck and looked out over the lake. The moon glimmered on the still water and the scent of pine filled her head. She breathed in, knowing she needed to leave, yet not being able to tear herself away. If only she could trap the moment in a bottle and take it with her.

  His slow and steady footsteps approached from behind and a warm jacket draped over her shoulders. She slipped her arms into the sleeves.

  “Thought you might be cold,” he said. “You shivered a couple of times during dinner.”

  The jacket smelled like him—warm, spicy, sensual male.

  She turned, practically into his arms. “Thank you.”

  He lifted the collar of the jacket and tugged the lapels together with his big, strong hands. His gaze moved over her face, slowly, caressing her with his eyes. Her breath caught in her chest and her heart thumped with wild anticipation. All the warm feelings she’d once had for him, all the memories of lying in his arms, kissing him, tasting him, came rushing back.

  He stood close—so close the angles of his handsome face sharpened and his eyes flashed a deeper, more penetrating blue. The breeze ruffled his hair and carried the clean scent of his skin. Around them the air grew thick. Her stomach knotted with a familiar desire.

  They stood like that for what seemed like hours before he said, “Everything sane inside me says I shouldn’t kiss you.”

  His blunt words doused the flames that licked at her core.

  “Then don’t.” She started to pull away.

  “I can’t help myself,” he said, his voice husky. Instead of letting her go, he tugged the jacket lapels toward him, lowered his head, and covered her mouth with his.

  The touch of his lips, the taste of him was new, yet recognizable. And nothing had ever felt more right.

  Burning with desire and aching with emptiness, she leaned into him, rose onto the balls of her feet, and wrapped her arms around his neck. His arms surrounded her in one smooth motion and they came together—heartbeat to heartbeat. Their tongues touched, swirled, and caressed while time melted away. She ran her hands through his hair, gripped the soft strands between her fingers while he made love to her mouth. Her head buzzed and she felt weightless in his arms. His hand slid down the curve of her back and cupped her bottom, bringing her against the thick, hot bulge that conveyed his own urgent need.

  As she tried to get closer, the Sex and the City theme chimed from the cell phone in her back pocket. On the second chorus her hands were holding nothing but air.

  “You’d better get that,” Matt said, now standing an arm’s length away. “Might be someone important.”

  Feeling a sudden emptiness in her gut, she debated on whether to throw the phone in the lake and finish what they started or . . . “Shit.” Kate yanked the cell from her pocket and thrust it to her ear. “Hey . . . Josh.”

  Matt turned his back then moved farther down the deck to give her privacy.

  “Tell me something good,” she said into the phone.

  “Oh, it’s good all right,” Josh snapped. “Inara was just arrested at Club Bardot for indecent exposure.”

  “What? How the hell did she manage that?”

  “A combination of one too many Iron Butterflies and the bartender’s paring knife.”

  “Don’t tell me.”

  “She de-feathered the Marchesa mini in very conspicuous places.”

  A headache the size of the Hollywood Bowl exploded behind Kate’s eyes. “I told you not to tell me.”

  “Sweetie,” Josh said in an overly sympathetic tone, “Redneck playtime is over. You need to come back before that singing psycho destroys more than just your relationship with your designers.”

  “I’ll . . . be back soon.” Chewing her thumbnail, Kate thought of her father, the chasm left in the bakery by her mother’s death, and the project she’d just started for her party gown–deprived teen girls. Not to mention the man who’d just kissed her socks off. She heard Josh’s not so subtle warning. Hollywood or Deer Lick. Career or family.

  No contest.

  Kate hit end call and looked up to where Matt stood with his shoulders unyielding and his defenses locked tight.

  When she walked up behind him, he asked, “Boyfriend?”

  “No.” She pressed her lips together where the taste of him still lingered and she laid her hand on the arm of his flannel shirt. “Can we get back to where we were?”

  He turned and looked at her. Really looked at her. Like he could see deep beyond the surface and into the veins pushing the blood through her heart. “I don’t think so, Hollywood.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m not here for your entertainment.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You.” He pointed. “Me. Nothing in common.”

  Before she could blink, he was walking toward the house. “Wait a minute.” Her hands slammed down on her hips. “You kissed me. You can’t do that, then just walk away and act like I don’t exist.”

  He gave her a wave. “Drive safely.”

  “Seriously?” she shouted. “If you’re mad because I got a phone call from another guy while you were kissing me, don’t be. Josh is gay. As in, has never been with a woman his entire freaking life gay!”

  He stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “I’m not mad.”

  She followed him up to the door. “I thought we were having a nice time.”

  He turned toward her. A cold mask of indifference marred his gorgeous face. “This isn’t a good idea.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t want to talk to you. You irritate the hell out of me.”

  “Then why did you kiss me like that, if I irritate the hell out of you?”

  His pale eyes darkened ever so slightly as he leaned his shoulder against the door frame and folded his heavily muscled arms across his chest. “Temporary insanity.”

  “Bull. You want to know what I think?”

  “No.”

  She moved up onto the step, invading his personal bubble. He didn’t back up. He didn’t back down. And neither did she. “I think you’re remembering old times and how great we were together,” she said. “I think you liked me a lot then.” She p
aused. No response. “I think you still like me.”

  “You should probably stop thinking so hard.”

  Between a wicked heartbeat and a breath, she curled her fingers into the soft flannel covering his wide chest and pulled him toward her. She pressed her mouth against his.

  He probably didn’t want to kiss her again, but hey, he was a guy. And when she slid her tongue across those chiseled lips, they softened and he kissed her back. In the quiver of an eyelash he had her melting in her Chucks. She leaned in, wanting more. Needing more. Not caring who was wrong or right or even what happened ten years ago. She wanted him. Bad. A slow moan rumbled in her chest.

  His hands wrapped around her arms and he tugged her against him. Yes. Now they were getting somewhere.

  Mid-kiss he set her away.

  Before she could ask “What the frig?” she found herself staring up at him from the bottom step.

  “Go home, Kate.”

  The hike back to her car wasn’t long, but darkness fell around her like a thick blanket and made it difficult to see. The soles of her Chucks ground against the gravel road and the wind pushed at her back—almost as if steering her away from Matt. She shook her head. Even Mother Nature knew they were one hundred percent wrong for each other. She kicked at a stone in her path. “Impossible, stubborn shithead.”

  As she approached her mother’s beast of burden, Kate heard a whine from a thicket of Silverberry. She stopped and her imagination flew into action. Wolves were always spotted in the area, but they rarely came close to town. Still, it would be her luck to end up on the ten o’clock news as a wolf snack.

  The whine came again and Kate realized the sound had a pathetic ring to it, not an I’m going to eat you quality.

  She squatted down and tried to look through the bushes, but it was too dark to see anything. Then the bushes moved and a dark shape came toward the edge of the road. It didn’t appear to be very large—or threatening. Most likely a dog. So Kate made a kissy sound and patted the ground.

  “Come here, baby,” she said in a low, calm tone. “I won’t hurt you. I promise.” It took her several minutes of coaxing before the animal crept through the brush and Kate found herself looking into the frightened eyes of a golden retriever puppy she guessed to be about three months old.